The Multi-Fandom Party
by Crescent Moon Dancer
Summary: One-shot. Title says it all. Multiple crossovers, inevitable chaos, and lots of fun for everyone except the hostess.


**Hey everyone! This is just a little thing I typed up at about 3:00 in the morning earlier. XD Multiple crossovers, of course, and just to avoid confusion, Brandi is my OC from my Hunger Games story Cry of the Eagle, which is why I categorized it under HG. (And I had no idea where else to put it. XD) Alright, now that's out the way, you can start enjoying the insanity. :D**

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Brandi spun around, surveying the crowded hall. She was going to _kill_ Crescent for this. _How_ that lunatic girl had ever managed to convince her to host a multi-fandom party, she'd never know, but it was without a doubt her greatest folly to date that she had accepted the responsibility.

Narrowing her eyes, she glanced across the vast room, locating the lunatic girl in question, who was standing by the refreshment table. She looked perfectly normal on the outside - except for the fact that she was flirting with what appeared to be a giant, tattooed rabbit with boomerangs sheathed across his back.

As Brandi watched her with something close to disgusted fascination, a white-haired boy in a blue hoodie slid across the shiny floor to join the giant rabbit. Instantly, the girl adjusted her coquettish attentions to include him.

Brandi shook her head and turned away, surveying the other occupants of the majestic hall. In the opposite corner across from her, several persons in Colonial American dress stood around talking. A short, dark-haired man seemed to be arguing hotly with a redhead almost twice his height, who was looking down at Dark Hair with serene cordiality, if not friendliness. Two pretty women, (Brandi assumed they were the men's wives,) stood by looking at each other apologetically, while an older gentlemen with shoulder length, iron grey hair snoozed in a chair.  
Deciding they looked content enough, Brandi turned back to check on Crescent when she was distracted by a tap on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, are you in charge here?" She turned to face the middle-aged man who addressed her. He had short, smoothly combed dark hair, light blue eyes, and a courteous but somewhat sardonic expression.

"I'm the hostess, Brandi Ilonwich," she said, extending her hand. "I guess I'm in charge, in a way." The man smiled and shook her hand, turning his head to holler over his shoulder.

"Jim! Over here! I found our host!"

They were promptly joined by five other people: A tall, brawny man with clever eyes and a charming smile; a slightly shorter man with dark hair, brown eyes, and the look of a Scot; an even shorter man who looked only a few years older than Brandi herself, with a mop of brown hair and a typical Russian face; a lovely black woman with beautiful eyes and an indecently short red dress; and a tall, dark haired, slightly greenish man with slanted eyebrows, a face remarkably devoid of expression, and - Brandi's eyes widened - were those _pointed ears?_

"I'm James Kirk, captain of the USS _Enterprise,_ " said the tall, good looking one in the yellow shirt. "I received instructions from Starfleet to beam down here with a landing party...?" Brandi glanced down at the guest list in her hand.

"James Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Pavel Checkov, Montgomery Scott, and...Spock," she read. Each of the six persons nodded in turn. "Yes, looks like you were all invited." She gestured to the expansive hall and it's varied inhabitants. "Enjoy the party, and try not to kill, or be killed. I don't want to have to explain a bunch of corpses to the janitor once this is over." On this happy note, she left the strange group to their own devices and marched off to break up a dispute that had broken out between two shady-looking characters for the third time that evening.

"I can feel your fear," said one of the dark men. Brandi carefully avoided his strange, silver-gold eyes as she approached. "Always second, always unloved, afraid you'll never be accepted by anyone..."

"One of these days your whisperings will get you in trouble," the other man said. (It occurred to the harried hostess that the two were startlingly similar - same dark hair, same foreheads, same soft, English-sounding voices, and same untrustworthy half-smile.) "Why don't you go back and hide under your bed, where you belong?"

"Enough, Loki!" Brandi snapped, noting the dangerous look in the other's rather feral smile. "You too, Pitch! Leave each other alone, or leave the party!" Both turned to glare at her, but she just glared right back 'til they shrugged and turned away.

Rubbing her temples, she turned her back on them and tried to regain control of the situation. It seemed like a pretty futile exercise.

Her attention was soon caught by a group of newcomers, standing just inside the door and looking around with wary expressions. "Oh great," she muttered. "How many more "guests" are going to wander in here?" She took a deep, fortifying breath and marched across the room to greet them, pasting on a rather terrifying grin.

"Good evening," she said, just managing to not sound threatening. "I'm Brandi Ilonwich, the hostess of this shebang. I don't wish to sound rude, but I must ask your names, to make sure you're on the guest list."  
A long legged, dark haired man stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Good evening, my lady," he said courteously.

"We are known as the company of Nine Walkers. These are my companions, Boromir, man of Gondor," a handsome, proud looking man inclined his head with a small smile, "Legolas, prince of the Elven kingdom of Mirkwood," a tall fellow with long blond hair and a vacant expression dipped his head briefly, "Gimli the dwarf," one of the five short ones, the one with the long red hair and beard, bowed low, "the halflings are Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrine Took, Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo Baggins," all four of the smallest bowed as they were named, and Brandi stifled an impatient yawn, "this is Gandalf the Grey," the wizard-looking person surveyed her inscrutably from under bushy eyebrows, "who is the leader of our company. I am called Strider."

Their hostess peered down the guest list. "Yes, you all seem to have been invited. Go enjoy yourselves, if you wish, or leave while you've still got two legs on which to do so. I'd advise you on that course of action, but it's up to you. Now, who are these characters?" She turned to a set of persons who rode up behind the company of Nine. One was a dark, handsome, slightly scruffy-looking man mounted on a white horse, with two girls and a boy crowded behind him. The other, a cold looking person with long white hair, rich robes, and the silliest crown Brandi had ever seen. The ludicrousness of it was rivaled only by that of his mount - a strange beast that looked like some sort of horse-elk-moose hybrid.

"I am Bard, Bowman of Laketown. These are my children, Tilda, Sigrid, and Bain," the dark man responded. (Brandi noticed that Crescent was suddenly looking their way with an avid look in her blue eyes - a look that Brandi knew all too well.)

"I am Thranduil, Elven king of the Greenwood," said the cold man, (or rather, elf,) arrogantly. "Stand aside, girl."

Brandi shot him an irritated look and glanced down at her list, electing to ignore his command. "Bard & Family is here," she said, scanning the paper, "but I don't see a Thranduil anywhere. Hang on..." She looked at another sheet of paper. "Oh yeah, here you are - on the "No Admittance for Any Reason" list." She snapped her fingers, and a pair of rock chewers stumped forward. "Toss him out," she said, waving a hand at the Elven king without looking up. "Along with his creepy ride-on toy."

Turning her back on the obliging rock chewers and indignant Elf-king, Brandi glanced around the hall to make sure everything was running smoothly. She noted with some distaste that the crowd of men - well, males - around Crescent had expanded to include the Russian guy from the other group, What's-his-name of Gondor, the Bowman of Laketown's son, and a teenaged boy in a red and green suit, yellow cape, green gloves, and black mask that covered practically none of his face.

"How does she manage that?" she muttered to herself, before being distracted by a crash and a bellow of "SCARLETT!" from the other side of the room.

Brandi ground her teeth together, storming towards the cause of the disturbance. "Rhett!" she exploded. "If you don't stay away from the wine and bourbon, I'll have you thrown out with the moose rider!" A pretty woman in red swept past her to stand by the inebriated Rhett.

"Nobody throws my husband out anywhere," she said hotly. Her hostess glowered at her.

"Then keep him away from the alcohol, Scarlett!" she returned, just as heatedly. "He's causing a disruption."

Scarlett Butler's reply was cut off by the appearance of the blue-eyed man in the blue shirt from earlier. "Did someone mention bourbon?" he asked hopefully.

"No!" Brandi snapped distractedly. "I mean, yes, but for heaven's sake, be responsible!"

"Young lady, I am a doctor. I don't do "irresponsible" when alcohol is involved."

An arrow whistled past Brandi's ear to lodge in a pillar, closely followed by a second one that split the first down the middle. "Fine, just don't..." She clutched her hair and left the sentence hanging, rushing off to see about the archers responsible for her latest problem.

"Robin!" she shouted, storming up to a handsome young man in a tunic and tights. "Legolas! You do _not_ get to hold archery contests inside!" She glared at the elf a moment before rounding on the man. "Honestly, shooting inside where someone could get hurt! What would your parents say?"

Robin's eyes, (a particularly dreamy shade of blue,) twinkled merrily. "Father would say, 'Strewth, Marian my love, but we've raised the fairest archer in all of England!' And then Mother would say, 'All save one; you, my noble Earl of Locksley'."

Brandi achieved something very close to a snarl, spinning on her heel and marching off. "If either of you fires another arrow indoors, I'll confiscate Robin's bow and throw you out after your father, elf! Crescent doesn't like you anyway."

"Who do I not like?" The resident lunatic sashayed up, surrounded by her attractive entourage. Brandi jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

"That blond guy, next to Robin Hood's son." Crescent surveyed him with narrowed eyes.

"Not like him? I detest him. What's he doing here, anyway?"

"Causing me trouble." Brandi scowled at the other girl, who was now busy gazing adoringly at the masked boy. "I guess I'll leave you to it," she remarked sarcastically after a moment. Crescent waved a vague hand as the beleaguered girl hurried off to see to four more newcomers.

Three men and a woman, of varying ages, stood just inside the door, staring at the chaotic scene before them. Brandi slowed down a little to study them as she approached; the oldest man was scruffily dressed, with a scraggly beard and long, scraggly hair drooping down from underneath a round, peacock feather-adorned hat that had clearly seen better days. Next to him was the woman: a young lady, barely out of her teens, it looked like, with a delicate face that was currently looking as shocked and disgusted as Brandi felt. She was dressed similarly to the other men, and a pair of swords hanging at her hips belied her feminine features.

The second man was also young, with dark hair just touching his shoulders, dark eyes, and a small, neatly trimmed beard. He looked remarkably like the blond elf, actually...

The third man was possibly the queerest person Brandi had seen that evening, even more so than the green-hued, pointy eared man with the group of six. This man was dressed like the other three, in seafaring style, but there was something definitely more...odd about him. His hair, worn in dreadlocks, was adorned with beads and trinkets, and not a finger on either of his hands lacked a gaudy ring. His eyes were lined with kohl, and of the four, he looked the most delighted.

After standing unmoving for a moment, the woman finally spoke.  
"This place looks like Bedlam," she said, her face twisted slightly.

"It looks like Tortuga," the Legolas-look-similar replied. He looked like he might throw up at any moment.

"It looks like politics," the oldest man noted, watching a brawl break out by the dessert table.

"It looks like fun!" the oddest man said brightly. His eyes were firmly glued on the beautiful black lady in the short red dress. "I'll see you lot back on the _Pearl._ Ta." Without further ado, he flounced off, and the other three drifted towards the throng of partyers.

Brandi shrugged; clearly they didn't need her to play welcoming committee, which was probably a good thing, since the brawl was starting to get out of hand. She stormed towards the participants, and if the floor had been made of a material less spunky than marble, her feet would have punched holes in it.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she yelled, forcing her way through the crowd of onlookers, just as one of the brawlers fell into a layer cake. She ground her teeth again and wrenched the people apart, hauling the woozy, icing-covered man off the table. "Riddler, you were invited to the party ALONE! Get all your cronies out right now!" She rounded on the man dressed in a silly purple costume with a bat-eared cowl. "Batman, you're only here because you and Robin come as a set and Crescent wanted Robin to come, but if you don't behave yourself, so help me, I'll have one of the rock chewers throw you out and step on you!"

Any reply Batman, the Riddler, or the becaked crony might have made was drowned out by a high-pitched ascending noise and a cry of "Nightfury!" All eyes were trained on the black blur that streaked into the hall, closely followed by five - no, four, that one had two heads - more dragons, each with a young Viking or two sitting on various parts of it's anatomy. They circled twice in impressive formation before setting down in the middle of the hall.

Brandi gaped at them a moment, then put her hands to her head and turned away. Let them figure out what to do on their own; she simply wasn't up to dealing with something like that. The dragons were bad enough, but coping with teenage Vikings was simply unthinkable.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking slow, steady breaths, trying to shut out the noise of the party.

"I HAVE YOU NOW, _HICCUP!_ I'LL HAVE THAT NIGHTFURY'S HEAD MOUNTED ON THE PROW OF MY SHIP! I'LL SOAK IN A TUB OF YOUR BLOOD! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO-AAAAAAH!"

The doors of the hall flew open, and a young, redheaded Viking warlord went sailing out, landing in a painful heap on the ground. If he had any thoughts about rejoining the party, one look at the hostess's eyes quenched them most effectively.

"If you set foot in this building again, I'll grill you!" she bellowed, and slammed the door without waiting to see his reaction. She leaned against it a moment, breathing deeply and trying to control herself. Scanning the party, she ascertained that nothing was currently going amiss, and she drifted towards the hard-drinks table, where the dread locked man was talking to Green Pointy Ears.

"Logic's a funny thing, mate," he was saying. "It's not really real. Everyone's different, and everyone's got their own brand of logic. It makes sense to some people, and not others. So 'logic' as you think of it, doesn't _really_ exist." He looked quite pleased with himself, and downed a glass of something-or-other.

"That is...illogical," Pointy Ears began, but Dreadlocks waved his hand, cutting him off.

"That's precisely my point, mate. It _is_ illogical - but, it's true! Which means that logic is, in fact, illogical. It cancels itself out, savvy? Ergo, it doesn't really exist!"

Pointy Ears' eyebrows drew together slightly, and Brandi supposed that was probably his version of looking bemused. "...Fascinating..."

Brandi snorted to herself, fighting a desire to laugh - a desire that quickly dried up as a resounding crash resounded throughout the vast room. Cries of "Awesome!" and "Great work, sis!" issued from a dense cloud of smoke in the middle of the floor.

Incensed, Brandi stormed through the throng and grabbed the twin Vikings by the ears, banging their heads together solidly. "Uh, that won't have any effect, they do that for fun," the one with the metal leg said apologetically. Brandi, feeling like she was rapidly losing her mental faculties and approaching something resembling dementia, glared at him and twisted the ears of the two troublemakers. The yowls from the twins worked wonders on her frazzled nerves, and she released them again, turning on her heel and stomping off without a word.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," she muttered to herself, leaning against a column and kneading her forehead.

A sudden ringing noise echoed through the hall, and her head jerked up. A perfectly round, red, white, and blue shield whizzed away from a startled Loki, back to a muscular man in a suit to match the shield.

Unfortunately, an unsuspecting Legolas walked across it's path of flight, and with a funny little sigh he folded up his legs and oozed to the floor. Crescent's hysterical laughter mingled with the cries of alarm from his friends as they all rushed to him. Loki grinned at the patriotic-looking man.

"Congratulations, you just concussed a poor, helpless elf prince!" The man shot him a look before hurrying forward to help the Company with the unconscious Legolas. Brandi rubbed her temples furiously, trying to decide at whom she should direct her tirade.

There was a sharp twanging sound, and an arrow flew past her again. She spun around, prepared to yell at Robin of Huntington, but was distracted by a loud splash behind her. She whirled back the other way just in time to see Crescent knock Batman into a large bowl of punch. Over by the hard drinks table, another brawl had broken out between the Guardians and Pitch Black, while James Kirk was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a snickering Loki. Bard was sighting down an arrow, aiming for the one Robin had lodged in the wall, three of the rock chewers had gotten into a dispute of some kind, and the Viking twins were lighting a fuse that ran along the floor and disappeared under the dessert table.

Certain she could feel several of her hairs turning grey, Brandi grabbed a metal bowl and dashed it against the floor. The resultant clang was louder than that of Captain America's shield, and everyone stopped what they were doing, looking around for the source of the noise.

"Quick, everyone!" Brandi shrilled in a high voice. "There's a luckdragon outside, and he's singing! You don't want to miss it!"

She dodged behind a column to avoid being trampled in the stampede for the door as everyone made a mass exodus, and managed to grab Crescent's arm as she was passing. As the last guest, (the Bowman's son, Bain,) exited the hall, Brandi slammed and barred the door and turned to face the other girl, eyes glittering.

"You have twenty seconds to say your prayers," she growled. Crescent gulped.

"Now Brandi, don't do something you'll regret later." Brandi advanced with outstretched hands, a crazed look in her eye.

"I won't regret anything I do now more than I regret agreeing to host this travesty for you. You're down to thirteen sec-"

The rest of her words were lost in a thick coating of pulverized desserts as the twin's fuse ran out.

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 **Hope y'all enjoyed it! Now excuse me, I must flee, before Brandi wakes up and strangles me. :l Review? Pretty please?**


End file.
